Burning Desire
by SugarGlazed
Summary: Anything is possible, Heinkel told you. He was right.
1. Introduction

A/N: Some information to remember while reading this chapter and the 2 that follow.

1\. The central character is named Kaiser; her family name. In spite of this, she is created as having no first name - for purposes of this being a reader insert.

2\. Pussycat is a pet name she is referred to - Jerso calls her this.

3\. Kaiser is spliced with snow leopard DNA, making her a human chimera.

* * *

"You smell different; peculiarly so." Heinkel collapsed onto the arm chair beside you, shaking free the intense stare you had on the novel in your lap. It was open, crooked at the spine, but you weren't reading it. Your eyes were trying hard to adjust, but every one of the words had in some way blended together, altering the text into something impossible to read. Vexed you shut the cover and unfolded your bare legs from beneath you, content with the way the bones eased up and cracked.

"Different," you reiterated. The blond man gave a nod. You lifted a brow to express your confusion. Sure you noticed it; the scent emanating off you was sharper than usual, but honestly you thought it was because you were coming down with the flu. A weak sigh escaped you and a gentle smile pulled at your lips. "I do feel a bit off, now that you mention it. Perhaps there is a bug going around."

You could not ignore the fleeting grimace on Heinkel's face as he sniffed towards you. A bitter warmth spread across your cheeks and up the back of your neck. "Do I smell terrible? You can be honest with me, Heinkel."

"No … pleasant actually." He focused his eyes elsewhere – blush shading his otherwise pale skin. "Like vanilla; your natural scent amplified."

 _How strange,_ you thought in bemusement. Sickness had a peculiar scent – an unhealthy one – like rot. But on you it did not.

"Be wise for you to perhaps stay in the barracks and rest today. We don't know how long it will be until we're stationed away from the Fort," Heinkel suggested. "Scar is out there still and once Kimblee recovers he'll more than likely push us to keep searching."

That was precisely the reason why you didn't want to stay cooped up; the less you did ensured the odds of your worth to the others. If you failed to pull your own weight – as the saying goes – there was no doubt in your mind that Kimblee would send you right back to the lab in which shaped you. That was not an option, and you thought nothing more on it.

"I will be present at mass for my duties, as expected." You noticed the stern look Heinkel aimed at you and gently placed your hand on his arm in assurance. "Trust me. I will take a rest if my condition worsens."

He concurred, but you had a nagging sense it would not be the last time he brought it up. You separated from him just as the door opened. A bulky figure of a man emerged from the corridor, setting the collar on his winter coat. His sudden inquisitive stare triggered a snort out of you.

"Morning, Darius. Unexpected of you to pop in."

"What are you on about, Kaiser?" Darius rubbed at the skin behind his ear. A scatter of red stained his face. "I came to see why you hadn't been to breakfast yet."

You snorted again, "Both of you, aye?" Placing the novel onto your knees, you heaved a sigh. "Don't worry so much. There's nothing wrong with me other than feeling a little unwell. I don't have much of an appetite in any case."

"Aye, well … good to hear. Mass will be starting before long; might want to get dressed." Darius averted his eyes. Similar to Heinkel he seemed unsure – about what you didn't know nor care.

You dragged yourself from the arm chair, wobbly at first as you stood up too soon. Playing it off as a mere accident, brought on by your dozing legs, you eased into the bedroom and shut the door behind you; just in time to catch yourself against the wall as a dizzy spell took you all at once. A sudden spark had been lit and a pleasant heat spread inside you, driving you to gasp in shock – more or less whining as excitement filled you.

Whatever you contracted was definitely not the flu.


	2. From Interest into Obsession

Unfortunately, Darius had been right. You were beginning to tweak out; the sickness had escalated throughout the day, becoming more than you could possibly manage. It only worsened after mass.

You were assigned to police the kitchen after breakfast, a simple task you more often than not found rewarding. But, not today; not with your body reacting to everything abnormally as it was. The twinge in your stomach had become more intense than before. A junior soldier from the Brigg's Fort – charged with assisting you on cleaning the dishes – raised the issue of your well-being after you nearly crooked a spoon when his shoulder brushed yours. The sudden jolt it gave you had brought goosebumps to your skin, driving you to clinch up and whimper.

"I'm alright," you had assured him, upon his enquiry. Except you weren't. You felt uneasy even standing at rest. The courteous soldier excused you to the infirmary, but loyal to your responsibilities you refused the offer and changed stations, focusing on prep for the upcoming lunch.

Since then, you felt better; not hale and hearty, but together. You were currently outside, watching the entrance of the base camp; the soldiers posted to the duty had all gone inside to escape the cold – all except you and the dunderheads, Jerso and Zampano. They were leaning against a stone panel underneath the awning, dicking off as usual. You ignored their banter and stared out into the frozen expanse of the northern mountains, appreciating the beauty of it. Sure it was freezing – you were in a fleece undershirt, green bandana, and military issued winter attire – but the fierce wind felt like bliss on your burning skin. You were sure at this point a fever had set in; the joints in your legs and arms throbbed in pain. Yet, you pushed on, almost instinctively. A tired whine pulled from your throat. _Why can't this day just end already?_

Swiftly, a lump of cold, wet snow hit you in the face. It's icy touch scorched your skin and melted into drops of water that receded down the collar of your shirt. _The hell._ You clenched your hands into a fist and snarled as Jerso burst into a fit of laughter.

"Happy to have you back, pussycat. I almost thought you'd frozen in place." He seemed to ignore the heated look you gave him and patted the excess snow off his gloves.

"I wouldn't do you any favors, dunderhead. But honestly, next time you want my attention, try asking for it." Spreading the water across your cheek with the pad of your thumb, you huffed in annoyance; to punch him without consequence would be very enjoyable at this point. You raised a brow, "Was there something you needed?"

"Nothing too important," he admitted. A tick of anger pounded at your temple – _I'll kill him._

Zampano came to his rescue by stepping in between he and you; always the one to defuse the arguments. "We're just concerned about the look on your face, Kaiser. Are you in any pain?"

"If ya need a latrine break, we'll take your post for ya," Jerso added.

Heat spread across your face. "I don't need to use the bathroom, idiot. Besides, you're supposed to be keeping watch anyway. It's our job to make sure no unauthorized people get into the building while Kimblee is being treated." Who were you kidding? There was no one around for miles. But, orders were orders. You huffed again in annoyance. "I'm managing … just leave it at that. We can't disobey Kimblee; he'll have no use for us otherwise." You were doing all you could just to pass the time, reminding yourself that if you failed, you'd never be allowed to reclaim your body. Kimblee was no gracious man; he'd allow no mistakes on your part. _I picked a shitty time to get sick._

Zampano clutched your shoulder, forcing you to clinch up again. You couldn't help it; your body was just beyond control. "Please don't … it does something to me whenever someone touches me. There's no pain, but it's uncomfortable." He released you, but for a moment you almost wished that he hadn't.

"We're in the same boat here – no choice but to obey and succeed – but we'd never report you should you decide to return to the barracks and rest." Zampano smiled. "Trust us; without you we might not catch Scar."

"Speak for yourself," Jerso snorted. He spat at the ground. "I won't tell on ya, but I expect compensation for it; your lunch will do."

You laughed, "If you want it, you can have it." Moving towards the door you stopped to yawn. "Just a short rest and then I'll come back." You waved as you went inside, wanting nothing more than to circle around and show your gratitude. _I wouldn't give Jerso the privilege._

On your way back to the barracks you contemplated the entire ordeal, wondering if rest would be enough. You made a promise to Heinkel that you'd return if your condition worsened, but honestly, you were too afraid that Kimblee would find out and deem you unfit to work. _He can't find out if no one tells him,_ you told yourself; you had trust in the other chimeras. _A short nap and I'm sure everything will clear up._ But, you barely made it half way before the scent of blood stopped you.

It was faint; a distance off. You sniffed the air, finding it's path and tracked it to the sickbay. A patient was bleeding – that was obvious – but you weren't sure if they needed help or not. You considered calling for a nurse, but someone was already coming down the corridor towards you.

"Major Miles," you greeted with a salute – you weren't expecting to see him. In truth you didn't have to, but you found it disrespectful not to address him by rank. He was an authority figure and you were merely a warrant officer.

Miles angled his head. You couldn't see his eyes beyond the glasses he wore, but you knew he was sizing you up. "You're one of Kimblee's officers. What are you doing here?"

"My nose led me here," you answered truthfully. "I smelled blood and thought someone might be in trouble." You opted to clarify the reason you weren't outside, guarding the entrance, but Miles didn't seem to care. He shifted a lunch tray into his right hand and fixed his glasses – the entire conversation had gone quiet and awkward.

"It's about lunch time, so you'd best be heading that way."

You laughed, "Not planning to eat this afternoon; I don't have much of an appetite."

"Coming down with something? It's not hard to catch your death in weather like this. Takes some time getting use to; not everyone is suited for it." Miles spoke from experience, you assumed. Being from Central you had no doubt you'd have trouble adjusting to the mountains, but things were different now. You weren't the same as before. However, that didn't change the fact you had already contracted something.

"Survival of the fittest. I can relate," you mentioned. "Have to be strong to keep on living."

"Or stumble around on dumb luck," Miles added with a smile.

You laughed again and agreed with a nod. "I've had my fair share of dumb luck, but that's a story for another time. Guess I'll be on my way then; was nice talking to you, Major." Waving, you turned to leave, but Miles called out and stopped you.

"Mind doing me a favor?"

 _A favor?_ You hummed in doubt. All you really wanted to do was go back to the barracks. However, you also didn't want to trouble him. Miles didn't seem like the type to ask for favors so whatever he wanted must have been important. "I have time, sure."

Miles held out the tray, nearly shoving it into your chest – you barely had time to catch it before it fell. That's when you noticed the contents of tray; a bowl of warm stew and a spoon to eat it with. "Take this to your superior. He's not exactly an easy person to sit and hold a conversation with."

You could understand that; only having spoken to him once before. "He's where exactly?"

Miles gestured his head in the direction of the door. "The one there. Does me a great deal of relief – I appreciate it."

"No problem, Major." You said your goodbyes and parted from him, standing in front of the door Miles directed you to. The Major was already retreating down the hallway he came from as you knocked softly on the door. "Mister Kimblee, may I come in? I brought your lunch." He allowed you to enter shortly after.

You balanced the tray in your left hand and pushed open the door, easing into the room. On the single bed against the opposite wall lay your boss, staring at you with an uneasy expression on his pale face.

 _Sir?_ You raised a brow. Something was off. Catching hold of his scent you understood why Kimblee looked so disturbed; his blood was heavy in the air. You swiftly advanced across the room to a metal table and sat down the tray, circling around. "You're bleeding, sir. Must have torn a stitch."

"Yes … I suppose I have," Kimblee concurred in a snarl. He was holding up the weight of his torso struggling to move himself into a sitting position. You assumed he'd been at it for a while, but to no avail.

Chewing on your bottom lip – nervous – you leaned forward and touched his shoulder. A wave of heat boiled in the pit of your stomach. You would have immediately let go in concern, but decided against it; you wanted to avoid worsening his pain. "Sir – you had to clear your throat before continuing – allow me to help you sit up. Be a shame if you couldn't eat lunch. I made it after all."

Kimblee grinned, despite his condition. "You don't say. By all means then."

You eased him up, having to lean over the bed to get behind him and adjust the pillow to support his back. With your advantage it was no problem moving him; _being like this has it perks._ You sat Kimblee against the bed end and stood back up with a mock smile. "That agree with you, sir?" You hoped so; the nervous tension was making you queasy.

"It will do; thank you." His grin made you uncomfortable – a little eager. It's like he knew your hindrance; like he could smell it on you. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but something looks to be troubling you."

You shook at the way his eyes moved down your body, purposely slow. He couldn't know, he couldn't have. Yet, something told you it wasn't hard to notice the persistent quivering of your legs. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir." _Stupid; that's a stupid response._

"Humor me a moment. I've not been able to carry a decent enough conversation with anyone since I was confined to bedrest. The truth is I'm bored … enough so that I'd make you sit here and converse with me; should I have to." Kimblee brought his eyes up to meet yours. He was waiting for you to comply – without a fight or reluctantly.

"As you wish, sir. It's the blood," you lied. "My nose is sensitive, if you recall – could smell you from the hallway actually. Maybe it'd be best to dress it before you eat."

Kimblee stared for a moment before easing into a laugh. You could swear you saw annoyance flash across his sharp features briefly. Even so, he couldn't seem to argue with your request. "Be my guest; if it's something that bothers you so much."

"I'm a soldier, Mister Kimblee. Blood does not bother me, but I do find it hard to be around you when your scent is the only thing I can focus on." That was the truth, but the only one he'd get out of you. "Now then … lets get this taken care of."

Wrenching down the cotton sheet, you tucked the corner beneath Kimblee. He gave you no order to stop, therefore you worked quickly and prudently to rid the smell from your senses, raising his borrowed top which had a bloom of red across the front left side – that would have to be changed later. His skin – now revealed to you – was stitched up cleanly, except for the two that had broke upon his struggle to pull himself up. The blood flow had thankfully stopped and clotted, flaking a little as you gently rubbed your gloved finger over it; you had no rubber gloves so the ones you were wearing would have to do.

You located a pitcher of water on the table and a tin mug turned over onto its rim, but no linens – the bandana in your hair was the next best choice. Dampening the cloth in the tin you sat at the edge of the bed and began wiping the brown residue from around the sutures. You were no medic, but basic first aide was straightforward enough to understand and honestly the wound looked good and clean, albeit swollen.

The minute you were satisfied with the lack of iron muddying up your sense of smell, you slipped out of the gloves and tossed them and the stained bandana onto the table next to the pitcher. A relieved sigh eased from your parched mouth. You made a swift move to stand, but an opposing motion jerked your head to the side, forcing you back onto the stiff mattress with a pained cry. Kimblee held a good chunk of your hair between his fingers, snickering as you aimed a glare at him. His royal colored eyes narrowed with all seriousness as he fingered the fine strands; it honestly scared you.

"This brings me back; your hair. It reminds me of them … of the Ishvalans … of the war."

You refused to allow him to continue on, clutching his wrist; instantly however, you let go. The hairs on your arms stood up and a chill shook you. _What was that?_ You quickly made an attempt to cover up the blunder. "It's n-not hereditary. My hair is white because of the tremendous stress I suffered after the transmutation … it's something I hope not to be subjected to again; _the awareness of being torn apart and put back together again."_

Kimblee raised his brow. "Since last we spoke I was under the impression the alteration was a sensitive topic for you. Truly, I was beginning to grow bored with your reluctance to speak on it." Every word he spoke was an insult on your person; a comment you felt like you didn't ask for, coming from a heretic who killed his own superiors because he felt like it.

 _Since last we spoke?_ The entire conversation was lost to you, but you vaguely remembered his strange interest in your former life; the reason for your alteration more specifically.

A deep sigh eased from your mouth. "Sorry, but I have no intention of telling you more than you already know. I am a chimera because I simply wish to be." You clutched his wrist again, despite the wonderful feeling it gave you, and pulled down his arm. The curls he teased fell limp against you.

"The tenacity in you," Kimblee scoffed. "I'm truly captivated."

All at once, his hands were on you; palms flat against both sides of your face. It frightened you, urging a gasp of shock to escape your lips. Your heart beat like the wings of a Hummingbird, but that too was drowned out as Kimblee wrenched you forward and forced his lips onto yours. Both of your hands grasped the front of his shirt, pushing against him until your mouth was free again. Yet there were no words to be had; the rattled sound of your breath escaping was the only noise you picked up on. In that moment, Kimblee rested his forehead onto yours – all you could see were his eyes. They were clouded and ringed; demonic.

"Remember something, doll; your pretty ass belongs to me. I took over as your superior the moment the doctors released you from that lab. Your life is unessential to me and if you don't want to die, then I'd suggest reading the room; I wasn't asking." Kimblee freed you and rested back against the pillow – the tattoos on his palms were hidden from view as he laid them against his lap, but you could still envision them pressed against your skin.

 _I … can't go back. I just can't._ Without a doubt the doctor would tear you apart once more. You lied; you didn't want to be a monster. Who could ever want to become a chimera for the power alone? You visibly shook, not from terror, but from irritation. "I'll take your advice into consideration, sir. For the next time we speak." At this point you wanted nothing more than to end the conversation and return to your room. That is, if Kimblee would let you.

A warm hand immersed your own, halting your trembling arms. You relaxed your hands, unaware that you had them clinched and sent a tentative look at the man in front of you.

"I believe you mentioned something about having prepared the lunch. I regrettably wont need your assistance for that," Kimblee spoke. He closed his eyes and gave you a gentle smile.

You wrenched away your hand and stood, finally able to stretch your legs. _He's something else,_ you thought bitterly. The tray on the table you took and sat in his lap, moving back to distance yourself from him once you were finished. "Will that be all, sir? I have other duties to attend to."

"Of course, but I thought we were having a decent conversation." Kimblee stirred around the contents of his bowl, eyes aimed at you. Again, everything he said was like a bad joke on your behalf. You nearly scoffed at him. "Another time then," he added with a sigh.

With a courteous salute, you moved towards the door. Getting your fingers around the knob Kimblee called your name, stopping you from leaving. You shot him a curious look over your shoulder, fearing what he had to say.

Again he smiled, "Have yourself a rest; you look as if you're coming down with something. Be a shame if you got sick."

With a nod of agreement, you pulled the door open and exited the room. The feeling in the pit of your stomach traveled further south the more your mind replayed the scene you'd just escaped. You were scared, but oddly enough turned on by the psychopath with the demonic eyes, who seemed obsessed with figuring out your former life. For whatever reason you liked it; no man had given you the attention before. Would it truly be wrong to indulge him?

Yes, it certainly would you believed. But you wanted to. You licked across your bottom lip in enjoyment. Certainly, you wanted to.


End file.
